


soft edges

by shxme



Series: a shared weakness [1]
Category: League of Legends
Genre: M/M, OOPS! all smut!, i cannot stress this enough i wrote this in like an hour its all smut, literally all smut, trans talon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-09
Updated: 2020-07-09
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:55:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25172734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shxme/pseuds/shxme
Summary: They'd caught each other's eye and Talon's down for a little excitement. Something fun.
Relationships: Talon Du Couteau/Yasuo
Series: a shared weakness [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1842241
Comments: 6
Kudos: 59





	soft edges

**Author's Note:**

> hey don't mind me i wrote this out in p much an hour so it's unedited and as always all mistakes are my own. its not my best work but oh well.
> 
> talon is trans. mostly male terminology is used.
> 
> hope this stokes your fires. i will singehandedly contribute as much talon content as i can jfc.

The wall is rough against his back, full of all sorts of ridges and knots. Ionian architecture is like that, rising and falling with the land and curving with the trees and the hills. It’s much more interesting than the sharp and angular buildings that make up most of Noxus. However, the wall holds no interest at all compared to the swordsman pressed against him. Ionian, wild dark hair, scarred and scuffed up and strong just how Talon likes. 

He says something when they break away, measured and calm despite the color in his face but Talon doesn’t know Ionian well enough to understand.

“What’s your name?” The man tries again, in rough Noxian.

 _Unimportant,_ Talon thinks. _A blade without a name._ He doesn’t bother responding or asking what he’s called in return. Instead he tugs the man down to his mouth again. He can’t stay long so there’s no point in pleasantries. The Ionian must know that too. A moment of weakness on his part, recognizing a Noxian insignia and not attacking him—or even _capturing_ him—well, maybe this is his attempt at catching him. Talon smiles against the man’s lips.

The Ionian’s hands wander down his side until they find his hips and then the man reaches into the front of his pants. He breaks away from their kiss, surprised.

“You’re—”

“A man,” Talon cuts him off sharply. There’s a knife in his hand—practically appeared there—and he spins it once before digging it into the wall next to him. He can see the stranger’s confusion fade into understanding. He kisses the side of his mouth as an apology, then his neck, before dropping elegantly to his knees. He pulls Talon’s pants and underwear all the way down and his breath flutters _hot_ against Talon’s skin. The assassin is wet—has been for a while—and he stares down at the man—could swallow him with those dark eyes.

He murmurs a couple words in Ionian that Talon doesn’t understand but he taps the inside of his thigh twice and he spreads his legs a bit further. The Ionian pulls one of his knees over his broad shoulder, then the other, so that the only thing propping Talon up is him and the wall. “This alright?” He asks in Noxian.

 _At this point why did you even bother asking?_ Talon settles one of his hands comfortably on the back of his head, where the man’s ponytail begins. That should be answer enough. 

One of the Ionian’s long fingers slips inside and Talon sighs. It’s been so _long._ His back arches when another finger joins the first, hopelessly long, pulling him apart. A moan escapes his throat. He stares at the opposite side of the dim room, where the man’s sword is tipped against the wall in its scabbard. _The edge on that one—_

The Ionian’s mouth closes around his cock and Talon squeaks. _Not a squeak,_ he corrects quickly, _just caught off guard._ He looks down at the man and he’s looking back at him, pulls his head away for a second to chuckle. His laughter is a summer breeze and it reaches the deepest part of Talon just like his fingers do. 

“Be quiet,” he grumbles, tugging the swordsman back against him. _Embarrassing_ to be caught like that. Talon prides himself in knowing the angles of attack and evasion. It’s necessary for his survival.

This Ionian knows the angles too, apparently, because when his third finger slides in he _twists_ them and Talon whimpers, hips jerking on instinct against his face. The man’s facial hair scratches against his thighs when he leans in and with measured confidence he licks a long stripe up his heat.

 _“Oh—_ ” Talon gasps. _Oh,_ he’s _good._ He’s so good. A talented swordsman. His body moves on his own, helpless under the man’s touch. Talon’s legs tighten around his head, keeping him close, hips bucking against his face. The Ionian props his arms under him and grips his waist to keep him steady, splitting him in two with his tongue. His fingers thrust in and out and Talon is _sopping—_ or maybe sobbing—

“Wait—” he stammers. _“Wait,_ fuck—” he yanks hard on the man’s hair and when his head tips back to look up Talon sees the way his mouth and chin shine wet in the lowlight. For a moment his mouth opens and closes and he can’t say anything. Words don’t come easy for Talon. 

“I want you inside—” he finally manages. Doesn’t really know if the man understands what he says. His free hand unconsciously travels down between his legs and he is soaked, dying for something _larger._

The swordsman presses a wet kiss below his hip and sets him down gently. He sways unsteadily, _weak._ Annoyance prickles the back of his neck. _Weak to a single man and his mouth._ Talon’s supposed to be stronger than that. Flawlessness is not an easy road. But then the man’s distracting hands sneak under his shirt and help pull it over his head. It drops to the floor next to his cloak and the rest of his clothes. Talon glances down. The Ionian is naked too and his cock—oh Talon wants it _now._

He welcomes him back between his legs while curious fingers trace the scars along his chest. Talon almost expects a question but thankfully there is none. Instead the man hooks his hands under Talon’s knees and holds him open and bare against the wall. Every bump in the wood digs into his back. Talon quickly reaches down and slicks up the man with his wet palm. He’s practically aching, awfully empty, why’s he _ever_ empty? He lines up the Ionian’s dusky cock with himself. 

Something undecipherable again. Talon should really consider learning more Ionian, with how many times he’s been sent here. He tries to figure out the meaning through the man’s face but the only thing he comprehends is _lust_ as he’s lowered onto the man’s cock. 

“Shit—” he breathes. “O-oh—” He’s thicker than most and fills up Talon entirely, forcing the air from his lungs. He can do nothing but gasp as inch by inch sinks deeper and deeper—impossibly far—Talon can’t handle it. How _weak._ He covers his eyes with his arm in an attempt to save face. 

When the Ionian’s fully seated Talon hears him chuckle again. His lips are warm against his nose and he whispers—something—in that weathered, calm tone. Talon can guess this time. _Let me see you._

The first few thrusts are gentle. His back rubs against the wall and it is somehow too much and not enough at the same time. 

_“Harder,”_ Talon orders—not begs. He drapes his arms around the man’s shoulders and pulls him close. _Fuck._ He did understand that word then. The stretch almost borders on painful and with every nearly violent grind of their hips more of Talon bleeds out. He is incapable of holding back, defenseless against the swordsman, a storm brewing between his legs. _It’s been too_ _long,_ the excuse keeps repeating itself in his head. _That’s why—fuck—that’s why—_ it’s too hard to think of anything except the feeling of being pierced open. Talon’s always wondered if he just experiences emotions too sharply, sharper than others. That’s why he’s elusive and keeps his knives close. 

It does not take him long to break. In fact, it takes an embarrassingly short amount of time for Talon to crack. His voice chokes when he comes and his toes curl and his back arches all the way from the wall so that the man staggers forward to keep them both upright. After that he is nothing but an extension of this stranger, breath ripped from his chest as he continues to rock against his body. A handsome scarred man—just how he likes—talented with a blade. Every nerve is too sensitive. He braces himself against his sturdy shoulders, wordless. 

In only a minute or two more Talon comes again and the Ionian finally follows, groaning against his neck. They remain there for a while longer and Talon is finally able to catch the wind that’s been stolen from his lungs. 

He wobbles when he’s finally lowered to the ground, feeling shockingly empty. White drips slowly down the inside of his leg and he staggers to the bed forgotten in the corner of the room. The man beats him there, collapsing onto it and grabbing a waterskin from his pile of belongings. He takes a drink and as Talon falls next to him he offers it. The assassin accepts gratefully, throat parched. The bed is meant for one person so he rests his head on the man’s tanned chest, mind buzzing with too much and too little.

They still don't know each other’s names and that’s fine. Talon will wait until he sleeps and his breathing is measured. He’ll clean himself up and silently get dressed, then he’ll leave with the midnight breeze. 

It’ll be like he was never here, was never left wide open, exposed and vulnerable, and was never anything else except perfectly sharp Noxian steel.

**Author's Note:**

> final chapter of grit will be released soonish btw. almost done with the first draft just had to get this out inbetween as a quick break. :^)
> 
> my tumblr is @no-shxme and my ask box is always open there if you wanna come hang out. otherwise i also have a twitter @shxmes where i mostly reblog art and cry about lol characters. kudos, comments, etc are very much appreciated!! i try and respond to every comment, thanks for all the support!


End file.
